Category Archives: Writing

I drove all the way up to Bozrah today in the pouring rain to interview a potential therapist and the goddamn girl didn’t show up. Mother Fucker. DECLINED.

But I did get a lot done while I was there. Everything in fact. Everything is done. I even got through my Booker onboarding meeting that they insisted I partake in. The guy gets me on the phone, we link our computers so he can see everything happening on my screen. It’s a big process. Not just a phone call meeting, but it’s an elaborate training session involving sophisticated software.

Him – “This onboarding meeting is very lengthy and can take quite some time.”

Me – “Okay.”

10 minutes later…

Him – “Uh well…..it looks like you set everything up already. Your hours, rooms, services, logo….you did it all already.”

I was probably the first non-dumbass he had to deal with all week. He sounded relieved.

After the meeting, I uninstalled the screen sharing app. The guy probably enjoys watching the screens of unsuspecting dumb asses who don’t realize they’re being watched. No sir, I’m no dumbass.

I drove to the nearest Walmart in Bozrah to grab some last needed items. An extension cord, a sharpie, hammer and nails, thumbtacks. Little things to help me finish off the room. Oh, and I picked up a bag of smart food popcorn, a box of 26 mini Slim Jims for 5 dollars, and a bottle of Starbucks mocha latte. I hate you Walmart. I hate you. I promised myself I wouldn’t drink anymore mocha latte’s on account of the caffeine but no. I just had to do it. I had to drink it.

I nailed the two surround sound stereo speakers to the wall, turned up the bass on my subwoofer so I can get a heavy dose of binaural beats. I set up my solfeggio wind chimes to have them clang ever so softly to a rotating floor fan set at low speed. Then, once everything was done, I laid on my bio mat to soak in the rhythm.

Me thinking – “Now it’s just a matter of time. Now I wait for the therapists to come. If I build it, they will come. Or wasn’t it “he” will come? Damn it I forgot to buy a pillow.”

Yesterday I got an email notification that someone applied to my business. I got super excited thinking that all my problems are once again solved. But no. The woman who applied was the same woman I fired a little over a year ago. She drove me crazy.

I feel bad for her. If only she knew it was my place she was applying to (again), she never would’ve done it. I didn’t read her resume because that would only make me feel worse.

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My employee’s get paid 3 times next month instead of the usual 2. I’m going to have to sell groupons to make up for it. Which is pretty good timing since it’s slowing down anyway and the groupons are almost gone/expiring.

But I still worry. Every single time I worry and every single time I pull out of it and make do somehow. I spent about $3000 so far on opening up this new place. If I didn’t spend that money, I wouldn’t need to sell any groupons this month or next month. Knowing that, it makes me feel better. I didn’t just spend $3000 though. Add another $5000 I gave to my lawyer and then another $3000 on top of that for my 2 month journey away with Hana and we’re looking at $11,000 I spent on shit I don’t normally spend money on.

Armed with this knowledge, the business is doing A-Okay. Even while I was MIA for 2 months not making shit, still okay. Calm Melanie. Be calm.

But I still worry. I’ll need to give another $5000 to my lawyer soon. I know it. Then the trial at the court house. Then the verdict. And then….jail time for Melanie. Debtors jail. Do they still have that? I think in one of those Asian countries they do. You can get locked away for owing money. If they can’t pay up in a set amount of time, they go to jail.

My heart pounds in anticipated agony. Or is it that Starbucks mocha latte I drank earlier?

Today at my new office, I blasted my music and danced while vacuuming. I was the only one who came in today in the pouring rain. I felt hopeful. Hopeful and proud that I wasn’t sitting around with thumb up butt waiting to lose everything because of a black man who wears a reindeer sweater in August taken some low def shitty phone pictures in a dark room of a woman’s hairy ass leg.

I’m so glad I have an asshole lawyer. So very glad. Thank God for creating assholes!

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I gotta say something to you. I’m going to be completely honest here. You know how I said I have a new book idea? The one where Chris Pratt starts hearing voices in his head?

Yeah, that one.

Well, it’s all I’ve been thinking about lately. Here, let me elucidate…..On my way to Bozrah today, an hour drive, I drove with no music and no audiobook. Why? Because I wanted to fantasize about my story idea.

Last night I went to sleep with no audiobook because I wanted to dream up my own story.

But here’s the kicker…..Yesterday, I got home in the afternoon and laid down with my laptop to finish writing my employee handbook. And after I was done, I started watching the new Lost in Space on Netflix (which is surprisingly good!) and I shut it off. I turned off Lost in Space. Why did I turn it off? Because I wanted to think about my book!

Now, let me make sure you understand the full picture before I stop my jabbery –

I was home in the middle of the day laying in bed staring up at the ceiling for hours. Just freaking laying there! Looking at nothing, doing nothing! And I really really wanted to finish watching the Lost in Space episode because it’s actually really good but no. I freaking laid there doing absolutely nothing!

The last time this happened to me? Um…never. I can honestly say it never happened to me. The closest I can think of is when I was a kid playing with my Barbies and GI Joe’s. I didn’t want to do anything else. I was immersed in my own story land. I can still remember the stories I made up – I had my GI Joe’s battle each other for the “King of the Mountain” title. Those who won fights would get a special band looped around their ankle – a colorful rubber band that the orthodontist gave me for my braces. .

I had so much fun. I like to call it “autistic fun” or “aspergers paradise.” Weirdo little kid fun. I was devastated when I lost interest in action figures. It left a void.

But there I was yesterday laying in bed doing what I did when I was a child. I didn’t want to do anything else. I was completely immersed.

I changed up the story a bit since I last told you about it.

Here is the very brick and mortar bones of my idea:

Chris Pratt is 14 when he starts hearing voices. He’s a very dumb, but very cute, 14 year old boy. He freaks out and tells his parents about his voices. His parents are best friends with a couple who has a 21 year old daughter (Jennifer Lawrence) interning to become a child psychologist. They make little Chris Pratt see the family shrink.

Yadda yadda yadda, Jennifer Lawrence realizes that Chris Pratt isn’t crazy and that his future self is in fact talking to him. But the future self doesn’t just talk to Chris through a voice in his head, he can swap bodies with young Chris whenever he pleases and young Chris gets sent to the future to be a bed-ridden 80 year old who’s unable to speak or move his body. But time moves slower in the past, so young Chris only has to endure old Chris’s body for a few seconds at a time.

When old Chris Pratt travels back to his boyhood, he can spend a whole week there while only a day passes in his present, ergo, postponing his inevitable death a few weeks away.

Old Chris had a stroke which allows him access to travel into his past. But since he is traveling into his own memories, using his own brain and synopses, he starts to feel like the whole universe is a mere illusion in his mind. None of it’s real, just his own made-up concoction. This is one of the demons he must battle.

Also, the future Chris comes from is torn apart from war. Acid rain pours down everyday, killing all crops and wildlife. Radiation levels rise to the point where people can no longer go outside without wearing a hazmat suit. Chemical warfare poisoned the water…etc.

He feels as if he’s in hell and the only way to escape it is to fix the world, ergo, fixing himself, before death takes him and all is lost.

And another thing…..Chris falls in love with Jennifer Lawrence. Obviously. And Jennifer falls for him, but only his older self and not his kid self. The kid self is getting tired of swapping bodies with his old, sick self, which limits the time Jennifer and Chris can spend together.

One last major plot twist is…..old Chris is dying. His then wife, Jennifer Lawrence, has died already, years ago during the first chemical weapon strike from ChinoSyria. He know’s the exact date when he dies. He misses his wife. He can’t bring himself to let go of her, or his goal of saving the world. And since he can’t let go, at the end of his life, he swaps young Chris into his old man body a moment before he passes away.

This means that old Chris has made himself eternal and has already lived through 78 lifetimes by the time I start telling the tale. Each time, swapping his younger self into his old self, moments before death. He can live on forever. As long as it takes to save everyone.

That’s pretty much the gist of it. I don’t know why the hell I’m so obsessed with it. I didn’t even watch the new episode of WestWorld last night.

But I like the idea of it. To save the world, save his girl, and save his sanity from megalomaniac madness. It’s perfect! It has philosophy, politics, time travel, love, madness, hell and heaven on earth. And stupid 14-year old Chris Pratt is an LOL riot, he’s so stupid. It’s a true masterpiece.

My other book idea is also very good. It’s a spin off of Dante’s Inferno, or the Devine Comedy. It’s about a futuristic prison that uses time compressed virtual reality to take the convict through his 9 layers of consciousness with the intention of finding truth and logic to his evil deeds. Each layer is more hellish than the last. A man can spend eternity down there, hundreds of thousands of years while his incarcerated body in the real world only ages a few minutes. If the convict doesn’t awake within 5 minutes of his incarceration, there is no hope for him. No one awakes after 5 minutes and they usually die of heart failure shortly after.

The judicial system all agree that if a convict doesn’t rouse after 5 minutes, he is guilty beyond repair and must be put to death anyway. The point of the prison is to find the truth, to find guilt, and find redemption. If it can’t be found in the first few layers of consciousness, you’re pretty much screwed.

Leonardo Dicaprio was to play this part. He ends up down in the 9th circle of hell and meets himself, but himself turns out to be God. And God goes on to tell him that Leo is in fact the one and only God. And that every person alive or dead that ever existed in the universe is in fact, him. Everybody is him and he is everybody.

This story idea also involves NPC’s – virtual reality people, or robots rather. And they become sentient and find a way to enter into a persons consciousness and control their every move while the unsuspecting victim is off playing in VR.

It’s a story about good and evil, light versus dark. God versus the devil. But at the same time, it’s all relative and all necessary.

I like the idea of the story. It goes really deep. But it doesn’t keep me hooked as much as my other idea. My new story idea plays out like silk in my head. It’s like liquid heroin between my ears.

Shit, it’s almost midnight and I’m still typing away. I hate this. Stupid mother fucking Starbucks mocha latte. Do you understand me now how it effects me? I ain’t joking. Shit is real.

But when I’m ready to write my book, at least I won’t need any Adderall. Adderall is amazing, it truly is. But all’s I need is some coffee. Not even coffee, a latte.

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That sounds like a hackneyed line, but I Googled it and I assure you, it came straight from my own horse mouth.

All it takes is the first few lines of a book, a movie, a play. The first few seconds before your brain forms a pattern/opinion of what you’re viewing.

There’s a glimmer of something that you lost, something that a good book can bring back to you. It has everything to do with having a mind quiet enough to listen.

Something touched you and with that touch, you remember who you are. Everything seems clear.

Without art, we lose ourselves. We forget everything. And with art, we lose ourselves, we forget everything – but in a good way. A progressive way.

The only way to view art is through silence. A cold wintery silence, breathing in arctic air that freezes your lungs until you cough up all your accumulated filth.

I lost something over the years. It snowballed as time went by. Constant work, incessant worry, doing a job I hate over and over and over again. I was consumed by it. It taken up every inch of me.

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Being an employee, working for someone else, is a different kind of stress. Having set hours and going home, enjoying time off is all you need to sustain that “you” feeling. But when you’re consumed, nothing of you is left.

When was the last time you felt truly free?

I thought about this and it had to be before I went into kindergarten, before having to do something mandatory. I was 3 years old when I last tasted freedom. But at 3 years old, you have to obey your parents, you can’t eat whatever you want, you don’t have a car or any money so you’re really not free at all. But on the other hand, you don’t know what you’re missing so in a way, you are free. Naivety brings you false freedom.

I feel like all of us have this naive false freedom because we never experienced the real thing. We’re all 3-year-olds working to acquire new toys, building our ego’s with legos and our legacy’s with poopy diapers in a landfill. Shit that doesn’t go away.

When you’re broke, in-between jobs, consumed by stress – You’re not free. Your worry owns you, debt owns you, your future owns you. You smoke pot to mellow out so people think you’re a chill enlightened hippie who doesn’t care about money or status. But you do care, everyone cares. Unless addiction is the crutch that consumes you. And false freedom is the torch that guides you.

Addiction and false freedom is like getting buried in dirt. Having it shoveled on you.

When you land your dream job, marry the love of your life, have all the money you’ll ever need, are you free then?

No. People are never satisfied. Never. People live a really long time now and things have the tendency of falling apart in the span of a really long time.

I’m working on my goal of absolute freedom – as close as I can get to it anyway. I’m only months away from it now. Four months to be precise, but it’s more like 2.

What kind of person will I unearth?

Having no responsibility, what will shape me? What will direct my next move when I already have everything?

That glimmer of silence found in those first few lines of narrative, before your brain scuffs it up with patterns and opinions. Before we can build it up or break it down, I want to live in that silence. While the world is a whirlwind before my eyes.

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I changed my mind on what boat to buy when I become rich and famous. I want this one instead:

Click the pic to see inside!

I feel that a floating city is more my style.

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A woman applied to my business. I Googled her like I do with all my candidates and found that she runs her own massage business, has years of experience, she’s physically fit, attractive, not too young, not too old. She basically embodies the ideal, successful massage therapist.

THEN WHY THE HELL IS SHE APPLYING HERE?

I automatically assume she’s up to no good. I’m guessing that she’s out to get me like Sara E, the woman who left a nasty review about us on Yelp.

Anti Massage Envy activists should not be underestimated.

That’s the only logical reason I came up with. If that’s not it than I honestly don’t get it.

I might be interviewing her tomorrow. We’re corresponding through email and in my last email, I gave her 100% full disclosure of how much $$ I can pay her. So there’s no misunderstanding when we meet.

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It’s Monday, my day off. I stayed up late last night finishing up a video game, Dragon Age Origins.

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I need to drive to Wethersfield to pick up a massage table that an old friend doesn’t want anymore and finish furnishing the room upstairs. And do payroll.

I HATE doing payroll. Doing payroll is like homework, only you’re not gaining anything but losing thousands of dollars. And I have trouble sitting still long enough to do it.

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I had a bad dream when I woke up today. I dreamt that I was in high school again, wearing foot pajama’s that zipped up in the front and well, I shit inside them.

There was a laundry room in the school so I ran to it, undressed, and threw my dirty PJ’s in the wash hoping that nobody would see. But somebody did see.

There was a group of foreign kids standing there to witness it. They all started laughing. I ignored them and went about my business (I don’t know where I found an extra change of clothes but I did.)

I started feeling paranoid that everyone would find out. It seemed as though nobody wanted to talk to me and I assumed it was because they knew about me shitting my pants.

But then I saw the first boy I ever kissed (in real life). He ran up to me, hugged me, and told me he missed me. He became my one and only friend, oblivious to me shitting my pants earlier.

Until that group of foreign kids found my shitty underwear and were about to broadcast them to the entire student population. My one and only friend was about to find out my most humiliating secret.

I made my way to where the foreigns kids were stationed, picked up a chair and threatened to smack them with it if they didn’t stop. They were all laughing in delight.

I held up one leg of the chair and lined it up with the eye of one of the foreign kids and said, “I swear I’ll skull fuck your eye socket with this chair if you say one word to anybody.”

They found this hilarious, and I found it funny too after having said it.

I never hit any of them with the chair – I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And after threatening to skull fuck them with the leg of a chair, we all loosened up. I loosened up enough to break down.

Me – “Do you have any idea what it feels like? To be so completely alone?”

Them – “We’re not from here so yes we do.”

Me – “But at least you all have each other.”

That’s when I started crying my eyes out. The foreigners comforted me and no longer cared about my shitty underpants.

My blog is like my shitty underpants. My story is told here to everyone and I can’t escape the prying eyes and humiliation that comes with it.

I made a rule not to publish anything while I’m drunk. I have countless drafts because of this. I can at least stave off some humiliation that way.

Seriously though, I think the dream symbolizes my fear of rumors, of being judged, ostracized, having close friends turn on me. In all my experience, there’s no greater hurt.

The crazy thing is, in real life, this fear remains hidden from me. I never think about.

But when “S” gave me advice straight from my blog, I didn’t realize it at the time but, it all has to do with this hidden fear of humiliation and of being ostracized. I unconsciously thought that if the haters were still reading my blog and reiterating it, that must mean they’re also spreading rumors about me. Reading my blog for the purpose of finding new things to judge me on – so they can spread it to others.

That’s what made me upset. At the time I didn’t know why I was upset, but I get it now.

Crazy unconscious associations.

I have to learn not to care what people think of me. Even when it comes to friends, I can’t care what they think – I don’t for the most part but it’s when they start hating me that gets to me.

I have to stop caring. But is it wrong to stop? Is it a form of pigheadedness? The stubbornness that leads to someones downfall in life?

Or maybe I’m making more irrational associations?

“You won’t be punished for your anger. You will be punished by your anger.” – Buddha

“I won’t be punished for caring. I will be punished by caring.” – Melanie

No, I like the Buddha’s saying better.

But I do have to work on this issue. If only to stop having these damn high school nightmares.

You know what just came to me? Being proud of shitting my pants! Not caring that I shit my pants!

Hold on now, there’s wisdom in this. There’s strength.

By not caring if I shit my pants, I wouldn’t care who knew about it. Not only would I not care, but I wouldn’t want to skull fuck someones eye socket with a chair leg. I wouldn’t be angry, I wouldn’t resort to violence….

I wouldn’t feel ashamed and if I’m ostracized or judged, I wouldn’t blame myself. I wouldn’t blame anybody and simply allow others the freedom to think whatever they want to think.

It all comes down to me. My fear of loneliness, being misunderstood, betrayed. All because of something that couldn’t be helped. Something I shouldn’t feel ashamed of.

I associate caring with being hurt. I think we all do. We’re only hurt by those we care about. But the thing is, when you break down the reason why you’re hurt, it all comes down to a selfish hidden fear. So obliquely hidden that it only shows itself in dreams (in my case, high school dreams of humiliation).

According to the stinking Law of Fives (or law of attraction), if you’re not ashamed of yourself, you will not be shamed.

In my dream, when I was able to laugh at myself after I confronted those foreign guys, I let go of shame. In a way, I surrendered to it.

I couldn’t beat them and in the end, I only wanted them to understand.

Rational Brain – “What if they didn’t understand? What if they hung your shitty underwear up on the flag pole?”

As long as I’m not ashamed of myself, I wouldn’t care what they did. I wouldn’t even be angry at them. I’d own that shit, you hear me?

I know this sounds impossible, but you just got to trust me. I’m onto something big here.

I can’t be ashamed of my blog, but I’m not going to broadcast it either.

I get angry in other ways too that need to be addressed.

I get angry when people over-react to things. When they hate a person for doing something trivial. I get VERY angry and impatient. I also get impatient when people talk non-stop.

I have a friend who does both of these things and then some.

She’s also up my ass constantly.

A long time ago I wrote about a girl who defriended me because I chose to hang out with Dave over her. Because he invited me to be his guest at a wedding on the same day she wanted to do something. Friendship over.

I didn’t much care because I felt no shame in what I did. I was more concerned about her and how depressed she must have been to have come up with that decision.

When I got back from Ecuador, she apologized to me and wanted to make amends and I said, “sure, why not?”

I made sure to set boundaries – that I wouldn’t be there at her beckon call, and things have been fine since then.

But now she’s starting to expect things from me. Not only that, but my patience is wearing thin with her constant nagging and drama. We’re too different and not compatible at all.

I hate ultimatums.

“We can’t be friends unless you change.”

Real friends accept you, right?

How can I be okay with wanting to skull fuck my own eye socket with a chair leg whenever we hang out? How is that okay?

I associated “real” friends with irrational expectations. Unconditional acceptance of me, always being there, looking out for me. We grow up watching movies, tv shows, and reading books that tell of these expectations. This is what it means to be a “real” friend, right?

I abide by those irrational expectations and judge any who don’t. They’re scum, they’re selfish is what I say.

But here I am wanting to give her an ultimatum – the opposite of a “true” friend.

If you’re around this woman trust me, she’d get on your nerves too.

She texted me the other day asking me if I’ll miss her while she’s away.

Annoying. Annoying annoying!

I ask people not to tag me on Facebook because she’ll know about it. I’m weary of posting pics.

I’m pretty sure the end is near. She’s going to stop talking to me again. If I ever run into her, she’d ignore me.

But since I’m not ashamed, I’ll not feel bad. And if she wants to be friends again, I’d say, “sure, why not?”

I’m too passive and noncommittal to ever put my foot down.

“No! Go away!”

I wonder what a person would have to do to get me to that point?

I hate ultimatums but sometimes they’re the right thing to do. It’s something a “true” friend would do. It’s called being honest.

I keep six honest…

I keep six honest serving-men(They taught me all I knew);Their names are What and Why and WhenAnd How and Where and Who.I send them over land and sea,I send them east and west;But after they have worked for me,I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five,For I am busy then,As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,For they are hungry men.But different folk have different views; I know a person small-She keeps ten million serving-men,Who get no rest at all!

She sends’em abroad on her own affairs,From the second she opens her eyes-One million Hows, two million Wheres,And seven million Whys!

I think, but I’m not sure, but yes I do think that this may be the beginning of my idleness. The door is open and I’m limping out into the sunlight and what do I see? A world of slow moving, dilly-dallying ice-cream drippers. A life of no pressure. A life where you don’t need to eat the ice-cream before it melts.

It’s running down the back of my hand

Creamy cold sticky sweet

My mouth is covered in white

And my shirt is speckled with drops

of delight

I’m talking about melty ice-cream….

My body aches

my shoes untied

disheveled and weary

my brain is fried

Alas this is no more!

I taken myself off

the work schedule-ore!

Yeah, I’m not on the schedule at work anymore. I am strictly by request only. I can’t retire altogether from massage, at least not yet I can’t. But I can make it damn hard to book with me.

This by no means portends that I’m out of hot water. It just means that I’m done. Physically, I’m done. But the hot water is certainly still there.

Burning my feet

red as a beet

I jump out onto cold-

ice but it’s sleek

Thin and brittle it cracks

I bess’ be watchin’ my ass

so I jump on a rock

with a hard place above

and I pound on my confinement and yell

“WHAT THE FOCK?”

I’m in hot water, I’m on thin ice, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Where the hell are my parents? It’s past midnight. I just ate a cold tube of kielbasa out of a plastic baggy. I’m all alone here.

My parents are probably at the cottage in Rhode Island living it up with my brother and his girlfriend. One big party. While I’m home playing a video game that I already beat and stuffing my face with cold tubes of kielbasa.

At thirty-fucking-five-years-old!

Just give me a minute world…..I’ll join you soon. Not yet, but soon. It’s just that you’re so damn demanding of my time that I’d rather hide from you.

My new goal is to garner 50 more members. I’ll be high rolling it biggie style with gold teeth and shit if I had 50 more members.

My member count now? After getting rid of the members with declined credit cards and who haven’t been in for a while, my total active member count is 147. Earlier today, before abolishing the non-paying members, it was 154.

Fuck this shit I swear. I’m sick of this member count shit. I’m sick of all this shitty shit that goes on in my head.

Shitty shitty bang bang

in my head

splat goes the sound

of my brains on the ground

Burp fart giggle wriggle

it lies there to jiggle

Shitty shitty bang bang

in my head

What I’m really sick of? Massaging people. But you know that already.

I don’t care if you’re handsome

I don’t care if you’re nice

I don’t care if you’re clean

and don’t carry lice

You want me to rub you

with lotion

and oil

and the pain starts in my ass

that I proclaim royal

It’s not personal,

I’m sure you’re grand

It’s just that I’d rather do

something else with my hand

Um, okay, now there’s a weird unexplained noise I’m hearing.

It’s pouring outside.

Oh It’s my parents that just got home. Where the hell did they go?

Hold on……

The casino of course.

It’s so weird, when I wrote my last post I was a depressed mess and now I’m looking back on it like it never happened. It’s almost like the person who wrote that post is not me – the person I was, but not anymore.

When did I write it? Was it yesterday? I tell ya, when I let go, I really let go.

I don’t want to dive into that crap anymore. It’s useless crap. And figuring out why things happen and how to overcome stupid shit is also useless.

There’s something about that thing I wrote at the end tho, the “no effort” part. That’s about the only part that isn’t entirely useless.

It’s the dwelling that’s pointless. Dwelling that my brother won’t speak to me because I’m trying to build up my business that was inevitably going to happen? Why? Why dwell?

Honestly, it was inevitable. He should’ve known that and he shouldn’t have bought a spa next to mine.

Anyway, I think I’m all rhymed out for now. It takes me less time to think up rhymes than it does to actually write normally.

I will join the world soon though. Right after I get all the members I need. I have plans. Big plans to make it happen as soon as possible.

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If you look above the Wins vs. Losses pie chart, you’ll see that my current winning streak is up to 18 wins in a row. And this is four suit spider solitaire! Okay, here’s a little secret; I only start a game if I can make two moves. Otherwise, I deal again.

Spider solitaire is like book writing in the way of uncovering a new card (idea) and adding it to the original storyline (stack).

You know when you’re dealt a good hand if all the cards you uncover stack nicely against the storyline. You’d know if your book sucks when every card (idea) you uncover has no place in the pile. You get stuck.

Part of the glory of writing is being able to create the cards in your pile, however, if the cards you create don’t fit, you may have to cheat and add something that doesn’t belong. Like when a long running sitcom adds a new character to spice things up. Where the hell did that guy come from? And what’s with the Beach Boys making random appearances on Full House?

The thing is (this is important to know), when you add something that doesn’t fit, you essentially create out of nothing. That may be great for all you zen monks out there, but not so good for us writers. Writers are essentially building a box. We’re not thinking outside the box, but building one.

If the government prints money from nothing to pay off debt to right their wrongs, the money losses value. That goes the same for creating a plot and storyline – you must never create out of nothing otherwise your book will lose value and substance. You have to pull from what’s already there.

We should revert back to the gold standard.

Does that make sense to you?

From my experience with spider solitaire, the best hands are the one’s where I stack all the cards I can from the first hand I’ve been dealt and it free’s up a space where I can move around my pieces. I still have 50 cards (idea’s) left to pull from, and the chances of finding homes for them becomes much easier.

How does this relate? Start stacking from the very beginning. Making connections, freeing up options so any idea that may come up, has a home and more importantly, a purpose.

I finished up writing my fifth chapter last night. I stayed up until 2 a.m, completely exhausted. That’s the thing with writing, once I start, I know I have to say bye-bye to the rest of the day. And bye-bye to the possibility of getting to bed at a reasonable hour.

That’s why I’m writing a blog blurb right now. It has an ending. It won’t take all day to write.

Being five chapters into writing my first novel, means I have at least 30 if not more ahead of me. It reminds me of trekking the Camino on those first few tortuous days. When Santiago seemed so far away, so out of reach – and it was. It was freaking 500 miles away on foot!

I’m not sure what is more painful, writing a book or walking the Camino. They both seem unfathomable.

And so I’m blogging, watching Sons of Anarchy, and buying the Sons of Anarchy soundtrack on Amazon.

How does this make sense?:

I originally wanted to go hiking today and work on my book in Cheshire Coffee, but I need a rest. I really do. You guys don’t realize this, but I actually work a lot and I’m always working on some cockamamie project. Writing a book is work, massaging people everyday is work, keeping a blog is, well, work. This is my day off and I honestly don’t want to move.

This is one of the many reasons why I don’t want to date. I’m selfish in the way of constantly needing to create and to think. I need room. I need that freed up space when playing spider solitaire.

That’s the best way I can describe it.

The guy I’m seeing, I’ll call him MB (which is strange because he has the same initials as my brother’s fiancé), I truly adore him. But I can’t seem to pull myself aside from myself too long before I fold back into the fullness of my being.

It’s not that I’m not open or incapable of love, it’s just that my brain is exhausting – it truly is! It demands so much attention. And once I get everything out of me, I want nothing more than to eat a bowl of tomato soup and watch Netflix and play spider solitaire.

And on the days that I do go out, I drink like a fish, come home, and the next day I’m completely spent. I don’t want to do anything, talk to anybody, see anyone. I hole myself up in my room and watch tv. And between you and me, MB likes beer as much as I do. When I see him, I not only say bye-bye to the day, but to the next day as well.

As far as my solitaire hand goes, wow, what a deck. I’m referring to my book. Hole-lee-crap. One of my friends asked if she can be written in and I tentatively said, “sure, okay.”

Then she made it more specific, she wanted to be a little girl.

“I know the perfect part for you!”

It seriously came out of nowhere and shot into my head in a fraction of a second.

That’s the thing with the cards you’re dealt – finding connections. If you stack everything up and align them accordingly, you can make connections with anything.

And that’s the same for life! All your experiences and knowledge is like a big data base in your brain. The more you align yourself with them, ordering them in sequence, they connect to each other and any idea, thought or emotion that comes to you, you can connect it with what you already know. I’m pretty sure this is where genius comes from. Your ability to connect things to what would rather seem random or contradictory, is the tool we all use to create with.

I’m embarking on a new pilgrimage. Only this time, I’m heading down the lonely road to delusions of grandeur.

The more I write, research my book, and feel my faith welling up inside me, the grander I feel. Grand and delusional.

I’m following my bliss. Basically, it’s the opposite of being lazy. And to be frank, it’s the opposite of being me.

But I’m not Frank. Frank is my Dad. I’m Melanie. And I’m not a hard-working man like my dad. I’m neither hard-working, nor a man. I’m womanly (in the delicate sense). And my dad made me a life of comfort.

Logically what I’m trying to say is that I’m not a man named Frank. Read between the lines, it’s all there.

I believed for the longest time that following your bliss meant doing exactly what you want to do for that exact moment and repeating this action every minute of every day. However, no. That’s not the case at all.

I’m amicably lazy. I have no qualms about it. I loft, yawn, stretch my paws like a cat and circle my domicile, fluffing my nest like a puppy before coiling in its tender embrace.

Ah, bliss.

How is this bliss different from the other kind? You want to know how? I’m going to tell you anyway.

It’s not about being lazy, it’s about feeling defeated.

I like to analyze my actions, if you can’t tell. I examine myself and my life consistently. And although yes, you can enjoy a peaceful afternoon of video’s games and frolicking on the couch with a bowl of ice-cream without feeling guilt – you have every right to enjoy! However, now this is where the analyzing comes into play, know why you’re being lazy.

If you’re being lazy simply to avoid something or someone – what that laziness really is, is fear. You know it, I know it. It’s fear.

“I’m completely happy and content. I don’t need anything. I’m fine just as I am.”

Really? Come on now, what’s really happening here? If you analyze as much as I do, you’re avoiding something. And most often it’s something that can hurt you (it can be a subtle hurt, or big, what do I know?). It can be something you care deeply about. And that something is possibly your bliss.

The hardest thing to do is often the correct thing to do. Trust me, it has taken me years to confirm this (thanks Law of Fives!)

Bliss is the way to evolving yourself. Doing what makes you happy, even if it hurts, is your path to becoming the stronger you.

And now that I’m on it (by writing my book), I know the difference between defeatist laziness and true laziness. I know it sounds crazy, but there IS a difference.

I had all day to write my book yesterday. I stayed home after work purposely to write it. But I kept telling myself that I was too lazy and that by indulging in my laziness, is also a way of following my bliss.

Nope, it wasn’t. You know why? Because it felt empty. And that emptiness left a sticky film residue in my mouth. Either that or my new organic toothpaste isn’t working as well as my beloved Crest.

I have to brush twice a day now 😦

Today, I ruminated on my book. I did online research for it and just by thinking about it and being productive, I felt my self-worth rise.

That’s where I am right now.

In my delusion, I have a following. People set-up discussion groups from all around the world to discuss my philosophy that slowly manifests itself into religion.

I get invited (all expenses paid) to make guest appearances to these discussions. I sit cross-legged atop a mountain of pillows fit for a sultan (with the little tassels on all four corners) and dispense words of encouragement and love.

Did today leave an empty film residue in my mouth? Heck no! It’s more like the dusky remnants of garlic from this morning’s garlic infused packet of instant grits.

I painstakingly finished writing the first chapter yesterday and sent it to my friend Stephanie to read. She loved it and wanted more.

What I want most from my imagination is to be able to write fast with my heart pumping. Not being able to catch up to the idea’s in my head.

And for whatever reason, I know what this feels like. It can only happen when writing fiction. When the world you’re creating is so real, the characters and situations are felt, materialized, digested, the vision of this fictitious world is shown to you, not created, but shown.

How do I know what this feels like? It’s imprinted in me. Why?

Writing my first chapter was far from this. However, writing my second chapter, I felt the vision rising. And guess what? It’s also about letting go! Letting go and trusting.

It’s hard to explain. It’s about letting go so the story can tell itself. You’re reading the story just as much as an actual reader is.

It’s fun. It’s actually freaking fun.

I have to go to sleep. It’s already midnight.

I’ve decided that once I finish, I’m going to join a writers meet-up group so we can go over my writing together. My Dad said that the best way to improve myself is by talking to someone who’s smarter than me. That can’t be too hard, right? I also want to draw illustrations for each chapter. I might as well use all my talents while I’m at it.

Like this:

I fell asleep last night listening to The Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy and heard my typical auditory hallucinations again. Auditory hallucinations happen when you hear things that aren’t there.

I heard laughter after every funny sentiment in the book. It grew louder the more my ears craned to hear it.

“Uh, that’s weird. I never noticed laughter before. Why would they insert audience laughter now? In the middle of the book?”

An alien with a funny name made a joke and the laughter ensued.

“Oh, it’s just my hallucinations again. Wow this is wild.”

Jokes that weren’t funny before (I listened to this book a few times), sounded funny because of the laughter.

“Ha, I never knew that was a joke, but I now totally get it.”

I wondered if I’d be able see my translucent arm again, but figured it wasn’t worth the effort and fell back to sleep.

Before bed last night, I vaped hard on my electronic cigarette.

Now this is going to sound nuts (as most things I write about do), but I googled “nicotine” and “pineal gland”, to see if there’s a connection.

I googled pineal gland because trippy psychedelic hallucinations are usually spurred by pineal activity.

What you seek, you shall find.

Send all your thanks to that absurd Law of Fives. I never know what’s real anymore because of it.

According to the Law of Fives, err hem, I mean a website (forgot which one), nicotine helps to decalcify your pineal gland. That’s one of the many reasons why native tribesmen smoked tobacco. Because of its health and healing benefits.

I also learned that fluoride found in tap water is a major cause for this calcification. It’s not only in drinking water, but fruits and veggies from fluoride laced pesticides. And the type of fluoride used is nothing more than a toxic waste product found in steel manufacturing plants.

It’s illegal for them to dump it in our rivers, so they persuaded the government to use it in our water.

The fluoride hardens people teeth causing pits and lines to occur. It hardens bones enough to make them brittle. Americans have the highest rate of hip replacements and osteoarthritis.

Anyway, I went on Amazon and bought organic toothpaste. Then I found organic aloe vera and had to buy it since Cleopatra used it everyday after her bath. Then I bought some apple cider vinegar for its plethora of health benefits…

Yes, we all know I have problems.

Besides all that nonsense, my pineal is as soft and squishy as a babies ass (not to be confused with the rest of my ass brain). My family always drank Poland Springs and because of my laziness, I only brush once a day. And guess what? No broken bones and no cavities for almost 34 years and counting.

The nazi’s used fluoride to make prisoners docile and more willing to walk into a gas chamber. I mean come on now – it’s crazy stuff!

As far as my book goes, I wrote a little of the first chapter today and stunk up Cheshire coffee with the stench of dreadful amateur writing.

Is it wrote or written? I suck. Suck suck suck.

Writing is a craft. I enjoy it immensely. I enjoy it, but never bothered to hone it. I whittle my thoughts to perfection, but not my writing.

I am so bad at writing. Freakishly bad at writing. If my writing was a person, she’d have a conjoined twin, mumps, a droopy eye, and a mouth that never closes so a steady stream of thick drool puddles on the front of her T-shirt. She would be mean too and most likely smell of farts. And she’d be a total slut – she has low self esteem the poor girl.

I will call my freakishly bad writing Mumpy Slobbergobs.

Oh the horror…..

I’m making her a mean slut so not to offend the people suffering with mumps, droopy eyes, conjoined twins and puddles of drool – sorry guys! At least you’re not a mean slut, right?

Mumpy Slobbergobs is the reason for this blog post tonight. I’m avoiding her. I avoid writing by writing – wrap your head around that turd infested reasoning.

Well, at least I know I suck. Right? If I didn’t know, that’s when I should worry.

I sat listening to it while taking notes on Circus Ponies Notebook – I had both hands free, so why not?

I find it hilarious that I want to write a book, and yet would much rather listen to them than read them.

Each night before I go to sleep, I play an audiobook and within 7 minutes I’m out like trout. Even when my mind is turned on full throttle. As long as I focus and listen to the story, I fall peacefully to sleep. This is great advice for anyone suffering from insomnia.

I completed my story outline today. Full with plot twists, a few comedic scenes, the hitting rock bottom moment, and a resolution with another delightful twist.

It flowed without me having to think. I wasn’t caught up on anything. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

I’m in the process of writing my first fiction novel. It’s scary. Thinking about it is scary.

Clarity, I must have clarity.

What I mean by clarity is that I have to remain in the present moment. I can’t think about my past, my future, or how crumby it will be to stay home on a Saturday night.

I need focus.

No Netflix, no spider solitaire, no texting, no facebook, no YouTube unless to educate myself. No mindless shopping on Amazon and the like. No bars…

No addictive habits.

Removal of all that serves the purpose in comforting my pattern-seeking ego. The need to be accepted, the need to be loved, the need to distract myself from feeling like I’m not accepted or loved.

When you start a project, it’s fed purely on faith. By believing in yourself. Because what you’re about to embark on is the opposite of finding ways to fill the void where your faith should be.

You fill it yourself. Anything “in part”, doesn’t matter.

(If you don’t read my blog, you won’t understand that last part.)

You can’t achieve focus and clarity by succumbing to addictive habits. You obtain clarity by living in the moment. By living from your heart. It’s achieved by knowing your purpose. And BOOM, instant clarity. All else falls away.

This is true at least, for purposeful writers. The writers who write because they love it, because they need to. Because they’d rather sit in Starbucks and write rather than outlet shopping on their day off.

It’s a form of meditation. That’s what writing is. I guess shopping can be too….

Okay, so here’s a list of my process / progress thus far with added notes to help you get started:

First: I found my protagonist.

Think of someone you’d love to meet or be. It’s okay to use yourself as the hero.

See this person in three dimensions. The story won’t work if you fail to love this person.

Second: I found my story.

I did this by talking to people. Anything that I found funny, interesting or imaginative, I took note of. It started off as a very small idea, but by jumping in and fantasizing, the story taken shape mostly on its own.

You MUST jump in! Even if it’s done solely in your head and not on paper. Visualization is just as powerful (if not more so), than writing it down. And don’t worry about forgetting it. If it’s a gold nugget, it won’t siphon through. If you forget it, than forget it.

Third:Tilling the soil.

What I mean by this is that in order for you to be a brilliant novelist, you must think like one. You have to believe that you already are one. This is a good time to jump on YouTube and watch novelists getting interviewed.

My advice is to go on YouTube and watch your favorite authors so you can learn what motivates them.

Read books that are similar to the one you want to write. Don’t just read them, but listen to them.

I’m an avid listener of audiobooks. I can hear the flow, the style and overall expression better when I hear it being told orally. I’ve noticed that since I started listening to audiobooks, I have a better grasp at visualizing the environment of my future book.

Forth:Turning my story into 3D.

I’m trying to learn what makes a good book good. To me, it starts with environment. Environment can include anything from style, language, characters, setting…I’ll just say that environment includes everything. Every component in your book should illustrates its environment. If it doesn’t, cut it out.

It makes the book whole, you know what I mean? When everything fits, it’s called “environment”. Sort of an ecosystem, if you will.

I made that up myself. I’ll use Harry Potter as an example. The environment in Harry Potter is so vividly felt, that it can be visualized in 3D. Any angle you view it from, the elements are unchanged. They are fixed in place.

This adds depth and reality to the environment. Your imagination has something tangible to hold onto – something that can be explored independently without the help of its author.

What I mean by “environment”, is to say that you don’t just see the story being played out in your head, but you feel it. You feel the atmosphere of the environment.

To feel something (if you read my past entires), is to experience it. You can imagine yourself being there.

Feeling the environment of your novel before you begin writing it, is a must. For me it is anyway. If you can feel it, you grant it life. A separate life from the one you’re living here.

Maybe that’s why people call their creations babies. “That’s my baby right there.” They created it, and yet it remains separate.

Fifth: Think BIG

When I first decided to write a book, I wanted it to be small, nothing special. This is because I lacked belief in myself. Now I’m beginning to understand that the success of my novel is proportionate to my beliefs.

This stage is actually part of the third stage, tilling the soil. But should remain a steady upstream course the more you discover your story and bring it to life. Your story will propel you forward with feverish belief and stating things like, “Yes! I CAN write!”

And once you really get rolling, “Holy shit that’s good!”

Again, it’s pulling faith from within, and listening to the environment of your story that you brought to life. You listen to it, and it tells itself. You experience it.

Sixth: Taking my time and planning

I’m a visual thinker, and because of this, I need to see the big picture all at once (3D). I feel that detail happens in the second draft. Focusing on detail now, will only derail me from feeling (experiencing) the big picture.

(I learned this by drawing.)

My first draft will focus on bringing the environment to life.

Environment is the heart, characters are the body, and story is a tool created from environment that defines the characters.

Maybe if you loop this together, it will make a figure 8?

Story is not the purpose, but the hero’s journey is. What happens to the characters internally, reflects what happens in the story. Always put your focus into the characters and the environment. The story will tell itself.

Describe the characters by not describing them. Let their individual reactions / interaction with the environment describe them (another reason why it’s so important). Let the environment chisel their form, don’t do it manually. Doing anything manually is lazy and without meaning.

“Yeah I know they’re happy, but why are they happy?”

In doing so, you will create yet another environment, a micro environment that revolves around each character – you feel them. You can understand them.

Have I lost you yet?

Seventh: Tools

You can write longhand, shorthand or with an old rusty typewriter, it don’t matter as long as you’re driven and have faith. However for me, I grown to adopt the idea that your work is only as good as your tools.

First comes the idea, than the tools to create it. But if you’re lucky, first comes the tools and then inspiration for an idea.

If you have the right tool for the job, the job will be easier if not better.